


Foxes and Sour Grapes

by rkvian



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Bloodhound is Badass, Earn Your Happy Ending, Explicit Languages, F/M, Found Family, Gibraltar is Everyone's Older Brother, Mirage is a Smart Ass, Not Beta Read, Path is Best Boi, Season 0 to roughly Season 3, Will update tags as we go, voidwalker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rkvian/pseuds/rkvian
Summary: Wraith learns about love and family through blood sports, banters, political intrigue, and the daring rescue of a person everyone thought was dead.
Relationships: Mirage | Elliott Witt/Wraith | Renee Blasey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> finally got around writing this Wraith fic. been wanting to write it since season 0. and i’ve figured, instead of having to plot every single shit, fuck it i’ll just go ahead and write it. i've finished writing the first arc, and ima update weekly with hopes i'm done with the next arc before i've posted like ten chapters or so
> 
> Enjoy!

The Drop Ship itself is an allegory for the Apex Games.

Outside it is nothing but grandiose, with its glinting silvery-grey, white and umber brown hull drawing awe from its audience as it rose above the Compound's Docking Bay, completing last minute flight check to its course. Inside however, there are only somber halls, uncomfortably bright, in some room tinted fluorescent bulbs, and patches of blood stained between weathered metal flooring, ignored for the propaganda of money and glory. There was the hum of ventilation above and the reverberating engine below them, but it's inaudible to boisterous conversations and raucous passing comments, riposted by either comebacks or snarled insults.

It was a familiar tableau, one she has been aware of for years, yet here she was in the belly of it, threading into the first of five Drop Point lobbies surrounded by a set of quarters, where forty-eight other Legends were already branching out into the different chambers. Around her, pre-made teams were starting to huddle together for tactics, but there were also stragglers like her, who weaved through the crowd to find her assigned space and the lobby that will announce her squad mates.

“ _She doesn’t look like a threat..._ ”

“ _…Pathfinder is running, did you hear?_ ”

“ _Doesn’t mean she isn’t..._ ”

If there was one noticeable difference between the last time she was here and this crowd, it was the foreboding sense of nonchalance.

Last Game, pin drop silence. Tension ran amok. A fight even broke out between randoms who ended up in the same team together... but _these_ people were the complete opposite of that. They joked and laughed, and smacked and bid each other good luck. Their shoddy façades must be an act, a play at being complacent to put unfamiliar competitors at ease until they meet each other at gun point on the field.

“ _Aye, but so is Bloodhound._ ”

“ _…saw her performance, and it’s…_ ”

“ _…watch where the Champion lands..._ ”

This was the Championship, after all, and she was not stupid to become as complacent as them. She scrutinized them, listening into every possible exchange as it would be a fool hardy move not to, but in the end, it's a heavy thud from one of the opened rooms that stuck with her, followed by a huff that was both a laugh and an exhale:

“Well, this is it, buddy. Last game of the season.”

“Thanks again for helping me carry my stuff, friend! Now it will feel just like home.”

"Don't mention it," The persons says, voice dropping into conspiratorial tone, "I think you'll be carrying me when the Game starts."

Her eyebrows furrowed but she didn't give in to the urge to look, pinning her eyes ahead. Hydraulics cycled and hissed two doors away from the exchange, opening to the default undecorated grey of her assigned quarters. A scoff crawled its way out of her throat as she sank on the bed, not bothering to push the covers off since none of them will be staying in the Ship long enough to sleep.

Home, huh?

It's bothersome to hear such a description in a place like this and find nothing but an empty room with no concrete memory to hold on to and no knickknacks in boxes to wash away the feeling but then, it's a ridiculous sentiment to have, isn't it? It's an even more nonsensical matter for her to think about before willingly participating in glorified massacre but she was anyway, just to ground herself, just to remember the many reasons why she's here in the first place.

To own trinkets meant to be tied down by familiarity, and especially for her, she can’t have that when she’s meant to _be_ a wraith, cold and detached and calculating, when she’s supposed to appear where she has to be and disappear at the next blink of an eye, leaving no trace of who she is and why she even exists.

_Focus._

She stilled at the Voice, releasing a meditative breath she held at the sudden noise of it in her head.

_Fuck you._

Within seconds, the view outside of her room blurred, and while she does not feel anything apart from the vibration that trembles the substratum of the Ship, she knows they have finally taken off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Drop Ship follows Season 3 reveal, such as [this.](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/YadYJb)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this to Zack Hemsey's Don't Get in My Way

Two arc stars clunked into the metal hull of the shed, but it was the grenade explosion that shattered her shields and sent her slamming face-first into the side of an open loot bin gasping in pain. Her vision swam from the impact, her ears ringing from the blast but she still heard the Voices hiss an adamant

_You’ve been spotted._

Wraith shot to her feet and scrambled out of the way away, narrowly avoiding a thermite that crashed and combusted at the very spot she vacated. The bullets of her opponent’s Carbine came hair’s breadth way from her, close enough to feel each whiz singe her clothes, but she managed to pull herself against the second slab of concrete wall, pressing her forehead wound into her arm to stop blood from dripping into her right eye.

_Stay calm_

In truth, it wasn't just shit aim that killed people on the field. It was losing their wits at the situation they’ve found themselves in, assuming it’s over and there’s no way out.

_Think._

She has less than two magazines of ammo, a throwable, a broken shield with no cells nor syringes, and her squad mates were on the other side of the Wetlands fighting the rest of his. If she fucked up, there's no saving her… The magazine clicked into place and she released the charging handle.

When has she ever run away from a fight she can win?

“Come now,” Rampart began smugly, voice getting closer with each heavy thump of his boots, “where’d the cocksure bitch from the Qualifiers go?”

_Move._

She peeked off cover, first to fire at the man already coming towards her on open field. He mistracked her movement with his Carbine, but Flatline's spray wasn't any better, its jagged bullet pattern flying between his limbs. He strafed to the left, right, stepping sideward before leaping into the shed.

Wraith took it as an opportunity to throw her last grenade and wait patiently. Sure enough, Rampart sprinted out with a stifled yell, escaping a second left to the explosion. A wave of satisfaction flitted through her veins at the sound of his purple shield cracking audibly but at the same time

A sharp hiss burst through her lips at the excruciating _burn_ on her thigh and then her arm at the slew of bullets. Her arm shot to the wall to stabilize herself, inhaling through clenched teeth to compartmentalize the pain and keep herself from collapsing to the ground.

Rampart was moving towards her.

No time to dawdle. But the bullet wound—

She clenched hard on her left fist and her world blurred into purple monochrome, into a place where the cold seemed to have made permanent tenancy in her bones. Wraith looked around the Void, seeing countless mirror images of herself struggling on their feet and setting up on different places, each of them exhaling and staring at others before phasing back to their dimensions. _He knows where you are_ , some Voices warned, _You’re not safe there_ , said the others, _Beneath the building_ , she added to the flurry, sprinting and sliding into cover.

Several of them will be dead within moments.

Not her.

When she dropped out of the void, she’s already repositioned beneath the stilt building and away from her unexpecting enemy, his head whipping side to side frantically looking for her. Their eyes met and she drew her weapon, firing before he could get over his shock enough to squeeze his trigger. Her opponent grunted at the bullet wound piercing the side of his stomach, keeling over. Before she could finish him however, he pulled himself around the same block of concrete that saved her.

She slammed her back against the pillar, swallowing mouthfuls of air as she reloaded the last of her ammo.

Twelve shots.

Should she wait to peek? Chase? Search the building above for more supplies?

_You can regroup._

The sound of a shield cell recharged went off—

_No_ , she thought, _fight._

Wraith promptly pushed herself from crouching behind the pillar, clambering over the wall to get the jump on her enemy. Rampart muttered a fuck underneath his breath, drawing his Carbine—but it was stuck on reload. He drew his second weapon, a Longbow that point blank missed.

Wraith didn’t mull her luck, closing in with her assault rifle. Despite the huge mass of his body, he was surprisingly agile and dodged what little amount of bullet she had left. No matter, because when her Flatline clicked, she reared back and threw her kunai. It would have hit him on the neck had he not tried to evade it. Instead it landed with a sick _thunk_ on his shoulder, and he let out a loud cry.

" _Der'mo_." Rampart pulled it out, twisting half his body to make a run for it. 

The blade clattered to the floor and she surged towards him, sliding across the space to pick the blade up. She planted a hand and sprang forward, the Jump Kit propelling her with enough force to skewer him at his side. She drew her hand back, feeling blood spurting from his wounds and gush on her hand and arm. Rampart howled and tried shaking her off, but the words he spat at her were lost to the adrenaline beating thunderous in her ears and the wetness she's bent on desensitizing. She stabbed him in the stomach, pulled back and stabbed him again at the chest, pulled and struck his neck until he gave up trying to move away.

And then he smiled, hollow and bloodied teeth, dark red spit dripping off his mouth and chin. She pulled away before he could collapse on her, waiting for his death to loot his items. To her surprise, he remained on his feet for another four seconds before he dropped on his knees.

“ _Povezlo tebe_. I'll get you next time.” He let out a garbled breath, a hand discreetly reaching for something inside his knockdown shield. Her eyes darted to the subtle movement—a self-resurrection—and whatever remained of the haughtiness Rampart kept fell away. "Remember m—"

His lips smacked together when she stepped towards him. "There were multiple ways this could end."

The look in his eyes shifted, his torso pressing flat against the wall.

"I chose this one." Wraith raised her kunai and arced it cleanly and swiftly, painting the last of his life across across the wall and ground.

Several seconds later, footsteps rounded up the platform with a pair of heavy panting, broken by a disquieted voice.

“He had—”

“A gold knockdown shield.” She finished, equipping the item and the restored purple shield off the deathbox. With the ease of muscle-memory she will never remember developing, she picked up ammos and attached weapon modifications, pinging the rest she didn’t need.

All the while their eyes burned into the back of her skull, because it didn’t take a lot of deduction skills to put together the dead man she's looting, the gore spattered all over her and the concrete flooring, and the kunai she’s uselessly cleaning on her thigh. This is a blood sport, they must be used to worse but it didn’t stop feeling like they’re…assessing her, like they’re trying to determine her sanity and if she was someone they could to trust.

Three, five seconds of silence.

“Are you injured elsewhere?”

Wraith paused on a breath, finally glancing at Bloodhound.

Out of all questions with an answer she’s preparing in her mind, that was the last thing she expected the Technological Tracker to ask.

“Nothing a quick heal won’t fix. The face just bleeds a lot.”

Gibraltar clicked his tongue at the smear of red down her face and the wounds still bleeding on her arm and thigh, but her there’s more relief behind it. “Do you have—”

“No, Rampart got it all.”

“Then I got you, brotha. Here, three, all we have left.”

Wraith fixed a look at the Shielded Fortress as he offered the syringes. It made sense for them to be civil to her. She just proved her competence by killing a man in purple with no supplies, and they needed her if they want to increase their chance to win.

“Thank you.”

_You're in their sights._

He looked like he wanted to say something else and opened his mouth to commit, but someone suddenly opened fire from the end of the Wetlands they came from, and the three of them sprang apart, words gone to the wind.

* * *

_Does the sight of dead bodies bother you?_ The woman from Pre-Game interview had asked. She had said, _No_ , and in her head, she added, _only because I don’t stare at them._

* * *

The skirmish was almost over when they reached Bridge Valley. Through the scope of the Kraber she nicked off a team they killed at the Forest, it was clear the situation was Three versus One left. At least that’s what it appeared to be, until a person materialized out of thin air sliding to hide around the cabin. Her finger twitched

_Don’t shoot._

Surprise sparked through her veins at the urgency in tone of the Voices.

Don’t do _what_ , exactly? Shoot the man popping a phoenix kit some two hundred meters away? Of course, she wouldn’t. Her team mates have close quarters load outs, she’d give away their locations with little chance of striking back.

Whoever to survive the gunfight would only have to rotate into the river beneath the Bridge Valley and they’d get cut off, forced to push a fight to death or take the longer route and bear the throbbing heat of the ring.

Wraith’s eyes narrowed.

She wasn't going to, but because it was the Voices that said it—

It’s going to be an easy knockdown. When they don’t help him, it’s going to be an easy kill. The man in yellow jumpsuit clenched his jaw and leaned his head against the crate, closing his eyes for something either a gasp for a breath or an exhale. Blood was visibly seeping from a wound at his side, and she measured the drop for a headshot to at least make it quick for him.

But just as she's about to squeeze the trigger, Bloodhound patted a gloved hand on her right shoulder, "Do not commit, my _félagi_ fighter."

“I'm not going to miss.”

"I've no doubts but the ring is far; to initiate an altercation here would be unwise." They said, accent thick through the modulator. "Let us relocate at the choke point ahead, making most use of Gibraltar's ultimate."

"Yea brotha, they’d risk the storm or risk us.” The Shielded Fortress grinned at the idea of the challenge, “And it won’t end well for them either way.”

The man glanced at their direction but didn’t hone in on them. _Fine_ , she thought as she heaved the weight of the sniper off her shoulder, rising to her feet at the sound of her team mates marching ahead.

_You live, for now._

* * *

“ _Wraith, fall back!_ ”

It took a moment to shake off the disorientation she normally felt a second after dropping out of the Void, and Gibraltar’s warning clicked when dozens of missiles fell on the ground around her, halting her push to the enemy team. She slid to a stop by a boulder on the hills of River Center just as explosion racked through the field, blanketing her surroundings with a layer of smoke and dust.

_It's not safe here._

Yeah, no shit.

_Someone has shot on you._

Wraith snapped her head around, _where?_

She didn’t have to wait long for the enemy to answer the question herself. A woman—the dossier she finagled appraised her to be Bangalore—rained heavy bullets at her through her Spitfire from under the conjoined shacks, splintering her armor. Wraith strafed, retaliating by tracking and shattering her enemy’s blue shield but the Soldier was able to slide off the hill before one of them could be downed.

Follow? No, her enemy would be waiting. She shifted back against her cover and rummaged her pack for her shields.

_Sniper._

Instinct allowed her to cancel the battery she was two seconds into charging, and she pulled herself away from the rock with just enough time to avoid the hard thump that landed where her head would've been.

“ _Another squad’s attacking._ ” Bloodhound called through the comms, " _East, 99, through the choke point._ "

" _Eh, I'm getting hit!_ " The Shielded Fortress cried out, " _Stay in covers brothas, I'm opening the sky!_ "

There was a loud horn signaling an airstrike, and his ultimate rained a concentrated firepower that shook the ground where it landed, decimating just about anything that it hit. Shrieks rose, and she took the opportunity to fully heal her shields, eyes honing in at the blue honeycomb of his tactical serving like a beacon among the sea of smog and she wasn't the only one who spotted it.

" _Cracked a shield, purple. I'm healing. Cracked another, blue._ " Gibraltar said, pinging an enemy. " _It's the other team. They're coming towards me, brothas._ "

" _Heal, I will hold them._ " Bloodhound paused, inhaling deep and then chanted: " _I bathe in the blood._ "

Here was another stark difference between the Qualifiers and the Championship: people played it safe in her last Game.

This was war. 

She scanned the whole field and estimated there to be at least five teams spread around, fighting a chaotic free for all against each other. There was her team, the one they're fighting against, the other trying to get to the two of them. There were another two fighting at the edge of the desert biome next to the Bunker. Bullets shots were deafening and nonstop, an amalgamation from Assault rifles, SMGs, LMGs, snipers, throwables like arc stars and grenades.

The Tracker fell two people from different teams in rapid succession. A quick glance at her banner showed both of them inadvertently moving to the buildings toward the Caves, alternating between shooting and recharging. She was about to follow until shots rang at the shack next to her, followed by a man's voice suggesting his people to regroup, recover, and then attack her team mates by rotating near the bunkers.

Six teams.

“Enemy near me.” She pinged the movement, “They’re going to flank from the right.”

" _You're too far._ " Gibraltar said, " _Can't help you if you get shot._ "

The double door of the conjoined house was shoved open, followed by footsteps and then the sound of someone using the zipline heading towards the building beneath the cliff.

"I can handle it."

_It sucks to be you_ , Wraith crowed, unloading a whole light magazine into the unsuspecting man, breaking his shield and hitting him at the back. Buddy cursed loudly, pulling a Peacekeeper to her but ultimately lost his grip and fell to the river. Water splashed again as she followed him; his first shot Wraith feinted to the left, the next shot, she fainted to the right; even with Bangalore's bullet whizzing past her, she raised her Kraber and shot the man point-blank, destroying his neck and throat.

There's the sound of an enraged cry and a strangled noise from the blood gushing out of Buddy's throat. Pure unadulterated fury lured the last member recklessly toward her, splashing blood-tinted water everywhere.

_His team mate._

Wraith snatched the Peacekeeper, dropping low and aiming high, shattering Bangalore's shield in an instant, her face contorting almost inhumane at the rage twisting with pain. Her enemy broke her shield again, the feeling of it bruising concussion bullets on her body until it shattered but Wraith waited, hands steady for another headshot and pulled the trigger, effectively wiping the last member of the team.

**"The Kill Leader has been eliminated."**

She scoffed, "Kill Leader?"

**"New Kill Leader appointed."**

Bloodhound's words were breathed through the Smart Comm, " _I am the new Kill Leader, a humble servant of the gods._ " 

* * *

The small pit stops between battles were shaping to be her least favorite part of the blood sport.

On the surface the flesh on her arm and thigh were puckered close, but the truth of the matter was that the bullet is still inside her and the tissues are trying to heal around it. There was no time to bother pulling the slugs out, and the possibility of infection wasn't worth digging her fingers into it, so it’s just in there. Not enough to waste supplies, but enough to be constantly bothersome.

Her eyes roamed her surroundings, about to rejoin her squad until something plopped into the water. She raised an eyebrow, appraising—

A fucking grenade. 

"Oh, give me a break." She sneered, sprinting into the building beneath the cliff. The door slammed and then exploded behind her, sending materials into the house and slamming against her back. She sped straight to the right-side door near the stairs and closed it. Her spot enabled her to survey the whole building with relative safety, allowing her to charge another cell in case of a fight.

_If_ there's a fight.

Did the enemy opted not to attack?

The muscles in her body tightened when footsteps entered the door where she came from, crossing to her area and—and kept running to the door on the other end of the building.

Wait, what?

For a full ten seconds she just stared at the man—yellow jumper, goggles, curly hair, _it’s him_ —as he shifted from foot to foot, even examining his pistol between his hands. He seemed unaware of the world and Wraith approached him carefully, fully expecting the Voices to say don’t shoot again.

She holstered her Carbine, pulling the still bloodied kunai, a hand on his shoulder to leverage the knife in his throat—

Then he suddenly fizzles and disappears.

Wraith froze at the muzzle aimed at the back of her head accompanied by barely contained laughter.

“No one had your back, huh? I hate when that happens.”

Sure, the Voices babble about people having an aim on her when she was already getting shot, but not when she really needed it.

“And I can’t believe you fell for that.”

Wraith turned her head slightly, looking at him over her shoulder. The pain marring his features was gone from having healed, but she wouldn't forget that face anywhere. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

"So that was you, with the sniper on the hill." He chuckled, husky from the exhaustion he’s trying to mask, “You know I get that a lot.”

“Really?" She challenged, the faintest smirk curling her lips, "Then you should’ve killed me when _you_ had the chance.”

"Ha, well that can be arr—uh, arrang—we can do—"

She clenched her fist, slipping into the void in front of him. Her mirror images ran for different exits and climbed over different platforms, escaping the direct sight. She phased back repositioned under the mezzanine platform inside the building, with a second to spare before he came barreling towards her.

What is his plan?

Her hands instantly went for the Carbine, but his body dematerialized into revealing another decoy.

Fuck, alright.

The next one she ignored—she’ll be damned if she kept falling for that trick—but then that one suddenly twisted on his toes and hit her with his Wingman. She jumped at the next slew of bullets, glowering at his calloused, even smile.

Instead of diving for a cover, she surged forward and arced her kunai at him, slashing his jumper open and barely missing his stomach. He pulled his weight away, lips parting slightly when his back hit the door. She offered a small cocky smile of her own, pointing the Carbine at his chest

But he managed to shove the door backwards and slip out.

The Trickster attempted to slam it in front of her . That should have been enough of a warning he was planning something for her, but she didn’t realize it for what it was until she was face to face with a Carbine to his Peacekeeper— _fuck_ —shattering her shield near instant. She broke his own purple shield in between the seconds he needed to cock his shotgun, next shells missing as she stepped back into the building for cover. A heavy bullet whizzed past her head, and she pulled herself to the side and twisted on her toes, aiming backward.

He’s...walking closer to her jostling with a shotgun?

Or was it a decoy?

Wraith wasn’t sure, would never have guessed, if his trigger finger hadn’t twitched.

She shoved the weapon aside, just in time for the shell to splinter against the wood to her side. In a quick maneuver, Wraith grasped the shotgun’s forend and pushed closer to his body, rendering the weapon useless with their proximity. Using her other hand, she reached for her kunai, positive she was finally going to slice him, but his right caught her wrist mere centimeters against his cheeks.

“Whoa there,” He panted, “not the face.”

“I don't know, I think you could use another scar.”

It was a threat.

But somehow, that made his lips twitch into a grin, “Spent that much time staring at me, hmm? I’m flattered.”

She pursed her lips and pressed the blade closer to him, his hand constantly readjusting around hers as if gauging whether or not she’ll switch tactic. He started backing up when she continued leveraging her weight, and he’s planning something, but what?

The trap sprang when he suddenly jerked her kunai towards him. Wraith was stunned at the boldness of the move for just a single second—then he tilted his head and the blade crashed into the wall, embedding half from the force. He twisted away from her body, and Wraith let go of her kunai to catch him before he could point the Wingman to her head.

“Not bad.” His voice was ridiculously nonchalant given the situation, as if he was simply commenting about the weather.

Their hands were a stark contrast, both of them shaking from the struggle it took to keep the muzzle away. The problem was his body is bigger and he’s physically stronger, and he’s slowly wrestling the pistol towards her.

Wraith raised a leg and kneed him in the stomach, once and he let go, twice then he stumbled outside.

She drew her own Peacekeeper, and they both moved to the doorway, incidentally trapping it between them. For several long seconds, she glared at him through light metal and plexiglass. It didn't bother him in the slightest.

“You should look for other exits, the house has four.”

“And have you shoot me in the back? I don’t think so.”

He made a show of tipping his head back and laughing in a way that she was sure he believed was attractive, all the while opening a syringe pack and healing. Right in front of her face. The fucking _gall_.

“I’m a gentleman, I would never.”

“Right.” She echoed the movement, popping a medkit, “You’d wait until I was at least looking at you first.”

“Bingo.”

Bloodhound’s voice cut through her communicator: “ _Ring’s closing, my_ félagi _fighters, and one is inside._ ”

At the same time, she heard the man mutter from outside, “Kinda in the middle of something right now, Path.”

Distantly, Wraith knew there was no time to deal with this prolonged clash, especially when this was just probably some marque of showmanship that was sure to appeal to fans. The ring was closing in and her team mates were repeatedly pinging for her to reset the fight and hurry. That was until a robotic thump landed on top of the building, joining the man before her.

“Don’t shoot.” He said, placing a hand on his partner’s arm to stop him from any further action.

Chill washed over her from the choice of words, prickling goosebumps down her arm. 

The MRVN looked at his team mate then to her, reaching for a thermite grenade and twisting it open, "Sorry but you could have killed my friend."

The heat of the ring closed in on them, sweltering as the MRVN threw the grenade on the ground and grappled off view. It shattered the door the same time Wraith withdrew her kunai, raising her left arm for a portal behind her as fire spread around them. _What are you?_ Sometimes the question is asked, often times it's in the way people looked at her. He wasn't any different, his eyes widening at the swirling mass of black and blue behind her and she narrowed her eyes, daring him to say anything that could fuel her revenge later.

But he didn't say anything.

Because he wasn't scared of her.

Months later, she will come to a conclusion that her fascination started here, when he cocks a hip and smirks at her instead.

“We ain’t done yet,” He said, “don’t die to the ring.”

“Right back at you.”

The grin he gave her was cheeky, winking as he disappeared in front of her eyes and left several decoys in his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was supposed to go hand in hand with the Prologue, big sorry
> 
> In this fic, I'm following the Cinematic headcanon(?) where there are no death boxes but banners. Other Apex Games headcanons will be revealed as plot goes on. Chapter 3 will be posted on May 9.


	3. Chapter 3

She should’ve shot him.

It didn’t matter that there was an established respect of skills between them towards the end of the fight. Wraith should’ve shot and killed him because then she wouldn’t have to hear the AI’s voice declare a new Kill Leader and watch the banner next to the terminal she just finished sifting through switch from Bloodhound to his cocky face.

“Ah, Mirage.” Gibraltar barked a hearty laugh at whatever kind of face she made. “He the one you were fighting against?”

Her eyes tracked her team mate’s movement, standing by the door with a hand on the frame, as if waiting for her to invite him in.

There it is again, the even-tempered disposition. She’d have called the Fortress placid, had she not seen him dominate a field by aggressively taking the fight to the enemy using his tactical. He and the Tracker didn’t even need a single bullet from her for that squad.

“Yeah, that’s him.” She answered, turning her body slightly to hide the monitor from view.

“Got under your skin, huh? Must be a tactic.” Rather than entering, Gibraltar nodded somewhere out of her view, perhaps at Bloodhound who accessed Market’s left main entrance.

“Should be more careful, da kine’s gonna be baiting you next time.”

“He’ll regret it.” Was her quiet answer, opting to hurry into the ring instead of waiting for it to close in on them again.

* * *

The last member of the team camping in the East Settlement whimpered and begged a distressing, “Please don’t kill him,” as if this was a war and they were civilians, and she was a murderer.

She could’ve died from that hesitation.

Another team could’ve blown her head off from afar, turned the tide of battle against her squad and promptly ended her chance to search the Canyon. She had stared rooted to her spot knowing she should shoot but couldn’t and it was Gibraltar who ended their suffering with an EVA to their head.

A stuttered breath left her chest, doused immediately by a cocktail of shame and anger. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Fortress reaching a bulky hand against her arm, and she couldn’t help but recoil violently from the touch, glaring at him.

“Wraith, it’s norm—”

“Whatever you’re going to say, _don’t.”_

And he didn’t, lips smacking shut. Gibraltar gave her a look burning with something aching to worry and understanding, and then he trudged ahead, sifting through the loot. It’s Bloodhound who lingered next to her, putting up a pretense of scanning the area when they both knew it was an act of alleviation.

Why are these two like this?

This wasn’t what she expected at all. This was a blood sport. She expected cut-throat, exploitative, manipulative people who would likely leave her behind if it meant they would survive for a couple of more minutes and rake a higher Game Rank with the post-Games flamboyance to act as if they earned it. She expected people worse than Rampart, hubristic and ostentatious, capable of great violence but ultimately forgettable. Oppositions whose deaths she could look at and wouldn’t cost her sleep at night.

Instead, she has squad mates who look out for themselves and each other, would take bullets to cover another, would rather sacrifice themselves if it meant they could get the heat off their battered team. It’s topped off by fighting against enemies who are lovers, some who are barely adult, murderers who wear emotions clear on their faces, who are so very human.

“Skulltown?” Bloodhound glanced at her.

Wraith shoved hair away from her face, “Yes.”

* * *

Despite her reservations, Wraith found she was the one that couldn’t leave the two of them behind, not even if she wanted to.

Her worries of having someone shoot her in the head while she was distracted wasn't far off, because, while they were about to cross the col to Skulltown, a Longbow bullet suddenly cut through the wind and hit Gibraltar square on the chest, breaking his blue shield. There was no warning for it. One moment the Fortress was attempting to lighten the mood with a story about a biking accident just a few years ago and then the next, he staggered backward, packing a strange noise in his throat.

"What—"

Both Bloodhound and her turned to the Fortress in confusion, and then slowed in movement. Red liquid pooled out of Gibraltar's grey-beige chest plate, slamming a fist to his chest repeatedly choking on his own blood. He was only able to toss his dome before he collapsed to his knees, blood seeping in between his fingers as he whacked deep coughs to the sand beneath him.

_Someone's aiming at you_

They turned to the North East entrance of the Skulltown and opened fire, more to distract than to hit. There was one in the doorway, another to the rooftop, and the last was hiding behind the truck. She was able to break the shield of the one on the doorway, but the one on the roof top broke hers and she dropped to cover.

And if Wraith thought it couldn’t get worse, The Tracker said, “There is another team perched atop the middle building. It is to their squad the Sniper belongs to."

Great, fucking great.

She popped a quick shield cell, spotting the team Bloodhound was referring to, “Get Gibraltar, I’ll cover you.”

Bloodhound nodded. Within three seconds she popped out and fired at the nearest enemy, the Tracker leapt out and dashed into the bubble where Gibraltar was still gasping and wheezing, and quite possibly dying. The Tracker's voice sounded in her ear.

" _I must put a syringe in him, else he wouldn't surv—_ "

"Do it."

A bullet hit her in the hand, and she drew back to the rock providing her safety, waving her appendage at the burn. She wanted to charge in so bad. The woman on the doorway had her shield broken twice, the one on the rooftop and truck broken once. They would be able to take this trio in minutes if they weren't ambushed. The team's aim barely fit for this level of competition, and they moved as inexperienced as they looked.

She gritted her teeth.

But her squad.

As if she cursed them, Wraith looked back to Bloodhound hovering over Gibraltar and witnessed the exact moment the bubble dropped and the Voices cried

_Sniper._

Before she could even shout a warning, a bullet zipped past where she was, hitting and shattering the Tracker's purple shield, making them double over at the bullet on their right shoulder. Bloodhound craned their head back, expression hidden behind a mask that probably wasn't any different than the burst of anger in her veins. They were able to heal Gibraltar, the two speeding to cover behind boulders further down the dune.

Wraith charged a battery before following them, feeling slugs hammering her shield. She strafed to the right, left, dodging the sniper as she came face to face with the duo. 

“Can you walk?” She asked immediately, looking where she came from in case a team decided to follow immediately. 

“Y-yeah, I can. I can still fight—I just—” He coughed again, harsh in his throat. There was a noise of a person holding his breath, and then he heaved sideward and threw up. “Can't stay here. We gotta go. Move.”

Her eyes turned to Bloodhound. She thought they were alright, but it seemed they only dealt with pain well, because blood was rapidly coloring the right side of their body. She clicked her tongue. The three of them maybe had five, eight minutes top to recover before that team's goes aggressive. While their aim is bad, they would be stupid not to take advantage. She stretched her fingers and closed it, controlling the shaking.

There was only rule she set up for herself: she’s not going to die for someone else.

It's a mantra, an aphorism that let her make sure that her life came above anyone else's, but at the same time...she can't stand to watch a person die knowing she would have been able to do something. A foolish sentiment she hasn't really killed yet.

“I—I’m—” Gibraltar’s eyes were glazed, so different from the one in the Market. “I’m so sorry—”

“Stop.” She hissed, “We’re not going to die here.”

_Fuck it._

“I’ll push again and hold.” She said to Bloodhound, “You and Gibraltar heal, alright?”

The Tracker’s grip was firm around hers, “There is another team awaiting the victor of our clash. They are coming to us as we speak, if you go there you will—”

"I know that.” She hissed, yanking her arm back, “But if I don’t try to distract them then all of us will die.”

“We’ll not letting you go alone, brotha. I'd rather die with you," Gibraltar’s voice is hard and uncharacteristically harsh, “because you’re not going alone.”

Wraith banged the back of her head lightly at the rock they’re hiding against, clicking her tongue. She knew he would say that. She doesn't know a lot about the Fortress apart from the initial profile she got about him, but she knew he would be the kind to make this shit difficult. 

Sniper shots rose again, and several sets of footsteps coming towards them. Her body perked.

They have maybe, fifty seconds tops. Forty five if she didn’t make up her mind now. She glanced at her gear.

_100%_

“Thirty seconds.” She said to the two of them, “I can portal you both out.”

They're both unsurprisingly confused.

"Portal?"

"I'll—it's—" She bit the inside of her cheeks, "I'll just show you."

They look wary but nodded.

Wraith opened a portal and stepped into the Void. She didn’t know how it worked for other dimensions, but she mastered hers enough that she can have people walk in without having to put up a direct exit for them. The problem was the environment. If there's another team, they would be dead for sure. Her eyes looked around the mirror images around her, all of them racing to connect the exit. There were some who were fighting, some she whispers, _Grenade_ or _Move_ to. She concentrated on her own dimension at the last percent.

“I set the portal.” She said to her communicator, in the doorway of the empty building near the Redeployment Balloon of the East Settlement. 

There was no response.

“Walk through, now.”

Nothing.

Fucking damn it.

Memory of the last person she urged in came to mind, how the woman crawled away and into the open and got herself killed instead. She will push them in this time, if she had to. Just as she's about to reach back into the mass Gibraltar popped out, falling to his knees and coughing. Bloodhound followed a moment later, tripping on the Fortress’ leg and she caught them by the arm and hauled them in.

“Heal.” She said again, closing the door behind the three of them. “I’ll hold.”

The two nodded but she returned her eyes to the portal.

Fighting broke up where they came from, perhaps the Sniper team and the one after them. She waited to see if anyone was going to follow but the hundred seconds lapsed and no one did. They got their eight minutes in peace, and when the three of them returned to the battle, they returned with a vengeance, decimating the two teams afraid of giving away their position and advantage.

As they savored the moment to breathe, Bloodhound nodded at her and Gibraltar clapped her back, grinning widely.

“I’ve not witnessed a person be able to use a Phase Tech before."

“Yeah, same. That was awesome, brotha.”

* * *

Wraith had a Very Solid Plan.

With no terminals left to access, her Very Solid Plan involved sticking to her team mates until the end of the Game. She made sure Gibraltar and Bloodhound picked off the members of one out of seven squads left, stationed on the spines of the Leviathan in Skull Town. She pushed, baited, and lured them out, waiting for the enemies to make a mistake they can take advantage of.

It’s a strategy that earned them another squad wipe despite the light array of third-partying bullets jabbing them from afar, but her Very Solid Plan went up in smokes the moment she heard the Voices say

_Someone’s aiming at you._

And somehow Wraith already knew who it was. Her eyes swept across the structures that made up Skulltown—a team on top of the Leviathan skull, another on the rocks beyond the respawn beacon. A nudge of a bullet from below, and she found him there at the fences North West, partially hidden by a high-ceilinged single floor building.

There was no hesitation this time.

She drew, aim, and shot him in the head…but it’s a decoy again, and she couldn’t help the frustrated groan that left her throat.

“Two enemies circling up the spine.” Bloodhound said, “They will likely press upon us at the endmost seconds of the round.”

Her attention darted to the ping, and sure enough she spotted his team mates, Pathfinder and Rosie, rotating around and up the Leviathan bones. An extra shot singed her shield and she glared back down where Mirage was standing again. Another decoy no doubt but what is this supposed to be?

An invitation for a one versus one?

_Go._

Popping a quick cell, she sprinted to the edge of the building they were on and slid off, throwing a hasty, "I'll be back," over her shoulder.

"Eh?" Gibraltar's head whipped at her direction, before the sound of his voice faded from range and flitted to her communicator, " _Are you crazy?_ "

She might as well be.

The Jump Kit eased her landing and she immediately moved towards where his decoy was last deployed, Carbine in hand. For a moment she thought about going back, but heard movement and spotted him at the other end, raising his palms.

“Not a decoy, it’s me.”

“Put your gun out.”

“Oh…’kay?” He raised an eyebrow at her command, drawing his Wingman and waving it nonsensically. “Now what?”

“No, I mean—” Wraith held the urge to groan again, “why aren’t you shooting?”

“Well you’re good and I ain’t seen you around, means you must be new.” Mirage’s lips twisted into a smarmy grin, “So I want to talk.”

She drew her head back, eyebrows knitting at the sheer amount of idiocy strung between the words. “What?”

“Yeah, you heard that right, talk. I’m Mirage by the way.” He put a hand on a cocked hip, examining his finger nails with the other, “Holographic Trickster, sixty-seven wins this season alone…”

_Someone’s aiming for him._

“…a thousand and three hundred ADR, tier three Assassin…”

Wraith pressed a palm at the side of her head at the sudden bloom of a headache, stuttering on a breath.

_They know where you are._

Him…aiming…what?

_Grenade._

_Move, now._

“Get down!” Wraith found herself shouting hoarsely.

For a moment suspended in time, he blinked back in confusion, but he surprisingly trusted her enough to move away from the opening.

Mirage flinched at the barrage of light and heavy bullets that flew by his head and then at the grenade that sailed into the open window, exploding on impact between them. “What the heck?”

“That’s not my team.” She spat, reaching for the building rage at her stupidity.

Anger was easy. Anger kept her focused, reminding her to keep sharp but leveled breaths to control her shaking hands from the worst effects of adrenaline tapping through her veins.

“Oh great, a third party then.” Of all things, Mirage quipped back, “You know, it’s more fun when I do it.”

He raised a finger and the gesture lit up the circular devices on his arms, materializing a decoy running to the window. The second it entered the view, it immediately got lasered, collapsing to the ground on a fizzle of light.

“Top of the building across from us. Try not to shoot me.”

“I’m not fighting for you.” She sneered, and he shrugged in return.

“You’re not fighting for me, you’re fighting _with_ me.”

Any argument she was going to make gave away to the door opening behind her.

Her head snapped to the direction just as the red-head woman raised her Alternator, blindly shooting behind the safety of the door. She dodged several shots, but it still halved her shield.

The moment Wraith pushed forward with her Peacekeeper, the redhead yanked the door closed and let out a high-pitched laugh. Taking a book from Pathfinder, she threw a thermite grenade and watched the woman panic as it seared her shields, disappearing off view while it ticked damage on her.

“I got’cha!” Mirage snarked from the other end of the building. Energy bullets swerved across the wall, some of it searing the metal hall on her end but three sharp snaps of a Wingman and the body crashed on the floor.

Before she could kill secure the man, Wraith’s taken away by the sound of a syringe healing a person from outside. The redhead was popping a battery when she found her hiding behind the water tank, jumping in surprise at the sight of her but dead before she could move again.

_Behind you._

She reloaded her Carbine—

_Help him._

—but froze on her feet on her way inside the building.

No, just.

_Move._

What the hell is going on?

For years since waking up in that fucking laboratory, she had never stopped fighting.

Everywhere she went, she moved with the knowledge and acceptance she could be dead the next moment and that shaped how she saw the world, how she lived her life. It meant meals double checked for poison and places she never spent more than four hours in. It meant assuming the people she met were eventually going to betray her, which led to confrontations where she had to fight back to stay alive.

Wraith had fought with and against people but never—never—heard the Voices alert her about someone else’s condition apart from her own. The warning at the Bridge Valley she could pass on for the possible consequences it had, but this?

Who is this Mirage supposed to be?

The man in white wraps jumped out of the window at the sight of her and Wraith was about to chase, but hesitated when she heard Mirage make an injured noise. She craned her head to his direction just in time to watch his shield shatter in front of his eyes, and light bullet to hit him on the arm, stomach and thigh.

_Help him._

Different Voices, different dimensions echoed the word

_Do something._

Instinct made her switch to her Peacekeeper, slide jumping into the small room and hitting the woman with an R99. Wraith broke her blue shield, allowing Mirage to finish her with a clean headshot but she didn’t die. She merely collapsed against the floor, her body twitching. Wraith looked away before the mass of broken flesh could register in her vision, reloading her assault rifle.

_Someone’s coming._

“Another team.” She said, but to her surprise, the Trickster was standing still, looking at her with confusion etched in his features. “What?”

“W-why…” Mirage pressed a hand against his stomach, shifted his weight, “Why did you—”

Not a question she can't answer.

“Hey,” She said, shoving a hand against his shoulders lightly, “stay focused. They’re here.”

Within seconds of saying it, a man in aviator jacket peeked from the opened door. Both of them reacted, shooting and downing him before he could pull himself away from their view. From their other side, another man with an EVA came and she dodged, feeling Mirage move the same direction she did. They avoided the next shot in unison, he shot from over her shoulder at the third, and she fired her Carbine back, tracking the man’s movement from the floor to when he strafed and jumped.

To their surprise, his death box spawned. That meant either there were just the two of them…or another person had gotten their third. He nudged her arm and gestured to the woman still on the ground with them, and it clicked.

The man with white wraps.

“One more.”

“Heal.” She glowered at him, but it didn’t seem to affect him at all. If any, it made him raise his eyebrow, causing a welt on his forehead to start bleeding.

“Hah, no way are you going to leave me here.”

She turned towards the window, unsurprised at hearing his footsteps behind her.

“I said— _fine_. Fine. I’m not going to—”

“Well, you helped me so I helped you, and then you helped me again, right? So I’m just trying to repay—uh, return?—the favor tha—”

“Stop. Talking.” She snarled, raising a finger she didn’t remember breaking and pressing it against his chest. He raised both his palms in the air in mock surrender. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know who you think you are, but you’ve been nothing but a pain in the…” The exasperated look on his face melted into panic. “What? Why are you looking like—”

“He’s got a—” Mirage aimed his Wingman above her shoulder—and Wraith turned only to come face to face with a Mastiff that hit her point blank.

Pain was instantaneous, shattering what remained of her shield and sending her slamming against the wall, quite possibly cracking her skull from the impact. Her vision blurred and darkened, her ears were ringing, and had she not been paying attention, would have missed Bloodhound’s and Gibraltar’s mingled voices of her name. She must have momentarily blacked out, because she was on the ground the next time she opened her eyes.

Beyond the window, there were flashes and two different shotguns followed by indiscernible snarled words.

Everything was woozy. She tried pushing up but couldn't lift herself from hurting all over.

She can't die here.

“Fuck, shit, fuck.” Footsteps, and suddenly Mirage was there dragging her away from immediate view. “I got him, he’s dead.”

Wraith blinked again and again, forcing her eyes open to find him kneeling in front of her. He wasn’t the cocksure asshole from the shack outside the bunker; it was the same disheveled man coming out of invisibility, the survivor fumbling in his pack of supplies to stay alive.

Mirage made a noise of success, taking a syringe out and pressing a hand on her chest to lower her back on the floor. It took for him to raise a fist in the air, his other hand searching for the right dip in her chest…before freezing altogether.

“We’re—we’re not on the same team.”

Sludge piled into her stomach, mingled with embarrassment, but there was little shame.

They aren’t. She forgot too.

“I don’t—I can’t. Don’t you dare ask me to.” He was frantic, eyes wild, hair plastered at the side of his face from sweat and blood, shaking his head left and right. “Hey don’t—don’t…you, please _—please_ don’t ask me to.”

She had no clue what he was talking about, and she had half a mind to reach out for him but stopped midway, her hand hovering in the air.

_Stay calm, think._

Wraith pushed his hands away from her with gentleness she didn’t know she was capable of, and shoved her knuckles against the floor to heave herself upright. Her fingers wrapped around the syringe attached to the golden shield.

“Oh. Shit.” It dawned on Mirage, and Wraith refused to see the look on his face. “Alright, okay. I’ll protect you.”

_Protect me?_

The words were thought and left unsaid. She inhaled, stabbing the three-inch syringe into her chest as he checked both ends of their vicinity and recharged his shield. It hurt, a lot more than the Mastiff did, but she held on and squeezed all of the concoction into her system.

The sudden rush of adrenaline and nanites pushed her to her feet and had her gasping. Her head was still throbbing, her arm aching but her vision cleared and she could move. That was enough.

“I can’t believe I forgot we were enemies.” Mirage forced a laugh, way too high to be real and comfortable as he charged a shield cell, “I was suppor—suppo—was gonna bait you, have Gibraltar follow you so mine could take Bloodhound one versus two. Can’t believe—”

Mirage shot to his feet, turning to the window.

“Fuck, I have to go they’re shooting Path.”

_Above him._

_He’s been spotted._

_Move…_

“Wait, Mirage.” Numerous Voices spoke all at once, a chaotic amalgamation of warnings for his well-being that all she could scream through clenched teeth was, “Wait. Don’t leave—”

_Help him._

_Move!_

Bloodhound dropped from the top of the building the same time Mirage looked back at her, eyes wide and lips parting. Wraith drew her weapon aiming— _aiming at who?_ —just as her team mate unloaded a whole magazine of their Prowler on auto at the man.

Then it was quiet, or maybe it the blood still roaring wildly in her ears.

She dragged an inhale the moment Mirage looked down at the bullet wounds on his chest coloring the leather and yellow jump suit a deeper red. He started to sway, drawing shallow breaths and she caught him, his weight pushed at her and they dropped to the floor.

His eyes met hers, lips twitching into the beginning of a grin—why was he looking at her like that? What was he going to say? Maybe he’d tell her, _oh, look at you, why are you painted to see me_ —but the light faded from his eyes before it could form.

Does the sight of dead bodies bother you?

It does.

It really does.

She doesn't think she will ever forget him like this, as she laid him on the ground and closed his eyes herself. His breath puffed against her hand one last time.

Sirens began to blare deafeningly, and the AI declared in rapid succession: **“Kill Leader eliminated, new Kill Leader,”** and finally, **“The Winners have been decided.”**

“I apologize for stealing your kill.” Bloodhound said evenly, but they’re a lot more insightful that she knew they knew what was going on; she wasn’t aiming at Mirage, she was aiming at them.

Wraith was ready to protect him from her own team mate, and that’s the most fucked up decision she has ever made since agreeing to Blisk’s conditions and signing up. Emotions sweltered inside her, myriad and intense to settle for a single one to feel.

So she closed herself away from it, compartamentalizing, focusing on Gibraltar’s haka fueled by the victory strain roaring their surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> Thank you to DargonWolfeh and Bree for commenting :)  
> Chapter 4 goes up on the 16th.


End file.
